


Sticky Fingers

by What_of_All_Those_Wayward_Priests



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Cracky, Drabble, Fluff, Horoscopes, I apologize for my use of different tenses, M/M, Not Beta Read, Peter is in college, Peter's POV, Vaguely X-Files Inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 18:24:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5836090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/What_of_All_Those_Wayward_Priests/pseuds/What_of_All_Those_Wayward_Priests
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which a horoscope convinces Peter that maybe its time to explain himself.</p><p>[Edited]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sticky Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> I've had the idea for this goofy magazine for awhile now. I know its not what I said I would write, but after watching the new episodes of the X-Files, I really wanted to finish a story with the Informer! 
> 
> p.s- I mean no insult to anybody who follows their horoscope seriously

With a groan, Peter pulled up the hood of his sweater, attempting to cover both messy bedhead and a persistent blush. It had taken him five cups of coffee, a motrin, and some giggling freshmen girls to realize that he was still in his pajamas. Or at least, he was in _someone's_ pajamas. 

Now, Peter had all the fashion sense of your average potato. Even on a good day, it wasn't exactly unusual for Peter to stumble into class bleary eyed and disheveled. His closet was filled with relics from high school, all t-shirts and jeans, studded belts dangling off plastic hangers. Ironing was a foreign concept, and shopping was beyond his budget. 

But today, instead of a generic shirt and jeans, Peter was decked out in sparkly yoga pants and a neon green hoodie, facing down two rather sudden revelations. The first one was, of course, the wonders of yoga pants. He was enlightened, and seriously considering throwing out all his other pants, budget be damned. 

The second revelation, however, was much more frightening. Sipping on his sixth cup of horrible dining hall coffee, Peter let his gaze fall onto the magazine at his desk. 

\--

At first glance, the "Cosmik Informer" was a fairly harmless little rag, detailing all the weirdest conspiracy theories and UFO sightings. It was fun and kind of charming, with sections devoted to star charts and alien themed art contests. For Peter, the cliches were soothing, a reassurance that some people would never have to meet the supernatural creatures he occasionally fought as Spiderman.

But for the past three weeks, his horoscope had been surprisingly accurate. At first he chalked it up to coincidence- horoscopes are designed to be generic, after all, and can always apply to someone. But after yesterday's warning against "going out and being drained", which he read shortly before finding leech monsters in the sewer, Peter was suspicious. Today's little tidbit was enough to make him panic. 

_"The Truth Is Out There"_ read the headline, purple Comic Sans sprawling onto a photo of Jupiter. Flowing into a pattern of nebula, the text continued _"Today's Truth for Cancer: Happy Wednesday, little crab cake! Or as happy as it can be- you probably feel like shit, after last night. For your own safety, remember to steal something from the person you love. It'll help, we promise! And yes. Yes you do love someone. Fess up. Don't sink or swim, Just get out of De Nile. (Get it? Egypt? Denial? Oh, shut up.)"_

Fiddling with the edge of his sleeve, Peter frowned. 

Someone knew who he was. Someone knew, for sure, where this hoodie came from.

\--

It had started innocently, really. Peter had been letting Wade crash at his apartment, in between the man's many missions, and that led to the place being even messier than before. Too lazy to do his own laundry one day, Peter borrowed a shirt while the mercenary was out, snatching it off a pile on the back of the couch.

But then, somehow, they had gone from enemies, to friends, to positively drowning in sexual tension. Peter didn't know when it happened, only that one day Wade was his best friend, and the next Wade was his everything. 

So now, sometimes the laundry got mixed up when Wade left for a job. Sometimes Peter stumbled about in the dark, sore from a disastrous patrol, only to "accidentally" grab some of Wade's discarded pajamas instead of his own. 

Peter was self aware. He could admit that he loved Wade more than anything. He could admit that he liked falling asleep in clothes that smelled like blood and spice and _home_. 

He just hadn't told Wade yet. 

\--

Lost in his thoughts, Peter almost missed the hum of his phone. Wade had been gone for a week now, doing something the hero was sure he didn't want to know about, but as always the man's safe return was heralded by a wall of text and three missed calls. 

_[Psssst. Spidey]_

_[Spideyyyyy <3]_

_[Did you miss me?]_

_[My pants are missing, and not in the fun way]_

_[Unless you want em gone, Baby Boy. No pants party! ]_

_[Don't tell me you did the laundry though. Cause you suck at that shit, i'll cry.]_

_[Manly tears, everywhere]_

\--

Well, fuck.

\--

Okay, Peter reasoned, maybe he was being a bit paranoid. Maybe the Informer wasn't having him tailed. Nothing had tripped his spidey sense, after all, and there was still the possibility that their accuracy was blind luck. The only person who appeared to be stalking him, occasionally, was Wade himself. He could probably stand to follow their advice, and maybe that was what scared him right now.

With that in mind, Peter fired off a couple texts in return. Hopefully he was right about this. 

\--

And about the magazine being harmless and not a front for something sinister, of course. 

\--

_[I didn't wash your pants Wade.]_

_[Im wearing them.]_

Time to fess up.


End file.
